


until next time, dear heart

by all_hail_the_witcher



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: :), Anxiety, Bittersweet Ending, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Eskel is the best bro, Gen, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Whump, Good Parent Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Grief, Grieving, Kaer Morhen, Kinda, M/M, Mentions of the trials, Panic Attacks, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Sad, Self destructive behaviors, Sensory Overload, Sort Of, This Is Sad, Touch Aversion, Unhealthy grieving, Winter At Kaer Morhen, a hurt it more like, although its accidental, anyway, because I said so, but he just doesnt know how to help, ciri calls geralts brothers her uncles, ciri understands, consider this my contribution to whumptober, dw guys the lute is okay, geralt thinks hes a bad witcher cause he feels things, geralts just sad and doesnt know how to cope, he gets some comfort though, he has feelings and doesn't know how to feel, he knows how to help geralt, however you wanna do it, i started this a week ago thinking it would be 2k max and now its 6k and just a pile of whump, idk if axii works on a witcher but we can pretend, implications of wanting to run away, implied hypothermia, implied starvation, its really sad before that though, its the farthest possible thing from a fix it, lamberts kind of an asshole, muteness as a form of grief, no beta we die like jaskier did, post mountain breakup, roach is the best good girl, she probably saved geralts life, this can either be read as just friends or unrequited love or love, this is certainly not a fix it, this was based on a thread on tumblr, u will probably need tissues, what else, whatever floats your pineapple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:55:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27296749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/all_hail_the_witcher/pseuds/all_hail_the_witcher
Summary: “Lambert.” Geralt nodded by way of greeting. “I take it you’ve met my child surprise, Princess Cirila, the Lion Cub of Cintra.”“Yes we’ve been acquainted,” Lambert said gruffly, stepping beside Geralt to remove his saddle bags. Geralt waited for the impending joke, but none came.He looked over at his brother, ready to make a quip about how he must have finally managed to grow a pair this season, when he saw a familiar lute case grasped in Lambert’s hand and he froze. Why did Lambert of all people have….oh….no….Lambert sighed, finally turning to face Geralt and it was only then that he saw the clear signs of distress agitating his expression and he smelled vaguely nervous. “There’s….something I need to tell you.”or: After the mountain Geralt learns that Jaskier is dead and doesn't know what to do without his bard
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Eskel & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 65
Kudos: 307





	until next time, dear heart

**Author's Note:**

> so like last week sometime @ toss-a-coin-to-your-stan-account on tumblr and i were going off about how what if the reason we haven't seen any bard content yet is because netflix killed him off? and thus, this was born. its sad. im sorry.

Geralt had arrived early at the keep that year. He and Ciri had gotten there almost a month ago and while it was peaceful, part of him really wished that Eskel and Lambert would hurry up because he wasn’t sure how much more of Ciri and Vesemir in the same room he could take. Although Geralt supposed that this was his own fault. After finding his Ciri running through the woods his first thought had been to protect her, keep her safe, get her to Kaer Morhen as soon as possible. 

Do for her what he hadn’t been able to do for Jas-  _ no _ . The bard. 

It had been months since their last conversation on the mountain, and yet Geralt still had to call on all his Witcher training to keep any and all thoughts of the bard buried deep in the back of his mind. He didn’t have time for feelings now, not when he had Ciri depending on him. 

“Geralt!”

Speak of the little cub. Geralt paused his sharpening of his silver sword to see the young girl standing in the doorway, her thick cloak thrown over her shoulders and her hair spilling haphazardly from the mediocre braid that he had managed to shove it in that morning. He had gritted his teeth the whole time, determined to not remember the way the bard had done the same to him so many nights on the path when he thought Geralt was asleep, his hands gently detangling the nest of knots and weaving the silvery strands into some intricate design or other, occasionally tucking flowers into it if they were near a meadow. Geralt would always, always rip it out the next morning, muttering about the impracticality. Just once he wished he had left the stupid thing in, just to see the bard smile softly to himself and mumble things under his breath when he thought Geralt couldn’t hear him about how-

_ No. Don’t think about his voice, _ Geralt reminded himself. It was a losing battle.

“Geralt are you even listening to me?” 

Oh right, Ciri. Ciri was here and he should be paying attention to her.  _ Stupid Witcher _ . 

“Hmm?”

Ciri rolled her eyes, but pressed on anyway. “One of your brothers just arrived! I couldn’t tell who exactly but Vesemir went out to greet him and he has armor just like you so I knew it had to be one of your brothers! Can we go out and say hi? Please, please,  _ pleeeeassee _ ?”

Geralt was already setting down his sword and reaching for his own cloak. “Of course.” Thank the gods someone else had finally arrived, he had a months worth of frustrations to take out on a good sparring session. 

Ciri bounded ahead of him down the long hall, presumably on her way to the stables. He briefly considered telling her to show down so she didn't give Eskel or Lambert a heart attack. Geralt had conveniently never mentioned his child surprise to his brothers and since it had been some time since there had been children running around Kaer Morhen, her presence was likely to be a shock. But, given the lifetime’s worth of pranks he had to catch up on, he let her go. Maybe he could convince his brothers to help him with Ciri. He’d have to play his cards right and would inevitably end up cleaning their armor for the whole winter, but he found himself not caring. He couldn’t screw this up. 

_ Again _ , the small voice in the back of his head whispered.

_ Fuck off _ , he told it, as he stepped outside into the frigid air. He didn’t have time to dwell on past mistakes. 

Voices drifted across the powdery new snow, the kind the bard would wither stomp through triumphantly with a smartass smirk painted across his face or stare at for hours, waxing poetry about how the sunlight glinted across the flecks, making it look like fairydust. And then Geralt would mutter something about how fairydust was a myth and the bard would-

“Geralt!” 

Geralt flicked his head up, cursing himself for allowing himself to get lost in memories again. Maybe he could get Vesemir to give him one of his special teas later to help him focus, the last thing he needed was getting distracted when Ciri was depending on him.

Ciri was standing in the stable,Vesemir noticeably absent, feeding Lambert’s horse - he thought this one's name might be Melvin, Lambert always did name his horses the most ridiculous names - some sugar cubes she must have swiped on the way out of the keep. “Look Geralt!” she laughed. “He likes me!”

Geralt frowned. Secretly, he’d been hoping that Eskel would be the first to arrive because he was far more likely to be accepting of his predicament and not make rude jokes about it. Given Lambert’s track record, well he didn't doubt that “children” and “surprises” would be the punchline of his jokes for the next, oh who was he kidding,  _ several _ winters at least. 

“Ciri, you’re supposed to ask before you feed peoples horses, especially people you don’t know,” he said, reaching up to help untack the stallion. 

Lambert’s boots echoed heavily on the floor as he walked over to them from the tack room where he had gone to place his saddle. 

“Lambert.” Geralt nodded by way of greeting. “I take it you’ve met my child surprise, Princess Cirila, the Lion Cub of Cintra.”

“Yes we’ve been acquainted,” Lambert said gruffly, stepping beside Geralt to remove his saddle bags. Geralt waited for the impending joke, but none came.

He looked over at his brother, ready to make a quip about how he must have finally managed to grow a pair this season, when he saw a familiar lute case grasped in Lambert’s hand and he froze. Why did Lambert of all people have….oh…. _ no… _ .

Lambert sighed, finally turning to face Geralt and it was only then that he saw the clear signs of distress agitating his expression and he smelled vaguely nervous. “There’s….something I need to tell you.”

•••

_ Witchers aren’t supposed to feel things, witchers aren’t supposed to feel things, witchers aren’t supposed to feel things. _

Geralt paced back and forth in front of the fire, chanting the mantra that had been drilled into him as a kid. He didn’t remember actually walking back inside, or taking off his cloak, but he must have. He vaguely recalled snapping at Ciri to leave him alone and go to her room. That was all it seemed he could do these days, snap at people. 

Lambert was still in the stables, doing  _ what _ Geralt had no idea, and had told him that he would come find him when he was done. He had tried to meditate while he waited for him, but every time he closed his eyes all he could see was that fucking lute in Lambert’s hand. The bard took that lute with him everywhere, he even dragged it up that damn mountain-  _ no, don't think about the mountain, don’t think about that.  _ He’d thrown such a fit when those elves had taken his first one, and Geralt had always seen it on him ever since, well except that one time with the-  _ no don't think about the djinn either, fuck _ . He was a bard, he needed his lute to survive the same as Geralt needed his sword, so  _ why the fuck did Lambert- _

“Geralt.” 

Geralt’s head snapped up and he paused mid pace. Lambert was standing awkwardly in the doorway, still holding the bard’s lute. He’d known Lambert for most of his life and he’d never seen him look awkward. Flirtatious? Yes. Looking like a conniving little shit? Absolutely. But never awkward. Lambert was too proud to be awkward. His stomach began to tighten in a way that was unfamiliar to him. He hadn’t swallowed a gallon of dirty river water recently, so why did he feel like he was about to throw up? “Lambert-”

“Let’s go sit down,” Lambert cut him off with a pointed look. The nervous smell was pouring off of him now.

Geralt moved slowly to the chairs nestled in front of the fireplace, hoping that would disguise the way his knees had begun shaking. What was  _ wrong _ with him? Witchers weren’t supposed to feel things.

“So I…” Lambert looked down at the lute in his hands. “I ran into your bard.” 

“He’s not  _ my _ bard,” Geralt grunted. 

Lambert shot him a look, and for a second it seemed as if he was going to make a joke about it and Geralt almost felt himself relax at the thought, but he snapped his mouth shut at the last second. “I stopped in Posada and he was playing at the tavern.”

“Hmm.” Of course it was in Posada. Lambert had probably even sat at the same table he had. The thought made Geralt’s skin crawl.

“He noticed me right when I came in. Played that awful song about tossing a-”

“Don’t.”  _ They were on the road after the elves and Geralt had just told him he wanted to part ways and he’d started strumming and- _

“Right. Well, he sang that one, presumably because I was there. And then…” Lambert fiddled with the lute case again. “He came over to my table on his break. Asked if I knew you. That’s when I put it together. And let me just say, Geralt, I’m a little annoyed that you never brought him up here because he and I hit it off pretty much-”

“Lambert just get to the fucking point.” Geralt’s knees had begun to knock together slightly and it was taking everything he had to keep it at bay.

“Right. Yeah.” Lambert returned to his serious expression “So, after it was established that I did know you, he gave me a letter for you. Said something about a mountain? He wasn’t making much sense.” 

Why couldn't Lambert just spit it out already? “Why do you have his lute?” 

Lambert sighed and hung his head. Geralt vaguely registered the sharp pain in his thighs where he was digging his nails into his skin. “There was a fight,” he whispered, so low that even Geralt had to strain to hear it. “A bunch of big men, I think they were Nilfgaardians, came over and yanked him out of his seat, demanding to know where  _ you _ were. I didn’t know you were a wanted man, although now I’m assuming it had something to do with your Child Surprise, so it threw me off guard. And I tried my best Geralt, I really did. But there were so many of them, and I didn’t want to hurt any of the other patrons.” He took a deep breath.

_ No no no, please don’t, please… _

“One of them got him before I could finish him off. I dragged him out of the tavern as soon as I killed all the Nilfgaardians and raced to find a healer but it was too late and humans are so fragile. I- Geralt, he’s…”

Lambert looked up, his eyes almost glassy in the torch light and Geralt stared, not comprehending. Not  _ wanting _ to comprehend.

“Jaskier’s dead, Geralt.”

_ A teal doublet hastening toward him, playful smirk. “You must have some review for me, three words or less.”  _

_ A bubbly, mildly annoyed voice, always a few steps behind him. “Geralt? Geralt, don't leave me.”  _

_ Pressing into his back, squirming against his ropes. “Geralt! Quick do your, uh, witcher..ing!” _

_ Nimble fingers strumming a lute. “Respect doesn’t make history.”  _

_ Arms gesturing wildly, needing to take up as much space as possible. “Food women and wine Geralt!”  _

_ Tousled brown hair falling into brilliant blue eyes. “And yet...here we are.”  _

_ Golden doublet shining in torchlight, nervous energy rolling off in waves. “Alright, stick close to me, look mean and pretend you’re a mute.”  _

_ Reeking of drink and heartbreak, skin pale against the forest. “Are you following me, you scamp?” _

_ Bloodstained and scared, worse for wear but a sight for sore eyes. “Well, let’s pray for her. On our way out of town!” _

_ A red doublet starkly contrasting with the mountain, soft voice like coming home. “We could head to the coast. Get away for awhile.” _

_ Just a voice, blowing feebly in the wind. “See you around Geralt.”  _

“Geralt?! Geralt can you hear me?”

_ And what had he given him in return? _

“Geralt! Breathe, you need to breathe!”

_ “They’re not real.”  _

_ “Blessed silence.” _

_ “Shut up.” _

_ “That’s not how it happened.” _

_ “Fuck off bard.” _

_ “I’m not your friend.” _

_ “I need no one and the last thing I want is someone needing me.” _

_ “He has the face of a cad and a coward.” _

_ “It’s like ordering a pie and finding it has no filling.” _

_ “Let’s not jump to conclusions.” _

_ “If life could give me one blessing it would be to take  _ you _ off my hands!”  _

_ If life could give me one blessing it would be to take you off my hands. _

_ If life could…. _

“Geralt?” Whose voice was that? “Geralt, can you look at me?” Thick, gruff, smelled of bark and mountain air. “Geralt?” Lambert? What was Lambert doing on the mountain? He hadn't been on the dragon hunt...

“Hmm?” His own voice thrummed tightly in his chest.

“Not what I asked for, but I’ll take it. Just focus on me alright?” Blood pounded in his ears, making it hard to focus on Lambert’s voice. Or, no, it wasn’t his heart, it was the air buzzing around him. Magic. Maybe Yennefer was nearby...no he’d sent her away….just like…. _oh_ _Gods_.

_ If life could give me one blessing it would be to take you off my hands.  _

“ _ Fuck _ , no, no, stay with me Geralt.” Another buzz shot through the air. What had he been thinking about again? 

“Good, okay. Do you know where we are?” 

_ We? _ Who was we? The air around him smelled musky and laced with...was that panic? like someone who had spent several hours trekking through the woods...who had…? Oh right. Lambert. Lambert was here. Why was Lambert here? Where  _ was _ here? 

“Geralt? You still with me?”

He tried to focus his cloudy mind enough to concentrate. Just beyond the woodsy smell was...overwhelmingly damp - maybe near some water? - and the sharp scent of old stone. Burning logs, so there must be a fire. Was he outside? Another sniff proved that Roach was nowhere near him, although there was the lingering scent of a stallion, perhaps embedded in Lambert’s clothes. And beyond that, the constant scent of witchers: the tang of magic and outdoors mixed with something almost metallic. Where could he be that reeked of... _ oh _ .

“Home,” he heard himself distantly muttering. 

Lambert breathed a sigh of relief next to him. He still smelled strongly of panic...panic and grief. Geralt wondered who he was panicking about. Were they in danger? “Yes, we’re in the great hall at Kaer Morhen.” Lambert shifted and the next time he spoke his voice was much closer to Geralt. “Do you want to open your eyes? It’s just the two of us in here.”

“Hmm.”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to. I’ll wait.” It occurred to Geralt that Lambert could be panicking about him. 

Geralt slowly zeroed in on the sounds and smells of the great hall, allowing the familiar room to calm his frazzled senses. Logs crackled gently in the fireplace. Mixed with the char of the ash were the faint traces of sweet maple, they must be from the tree he’d chopped up yesterday. The stone of the castle smelled as damp and dank as it had growing up, but this time he let the coolness of it wrap around him like a blanket. The must of furs that had been in storage for a whole season mixed with the earthy leather of the couches. Occasionally he would catch a decades old whiff of animal from the various heads Vesemir had mounted on the high walls and if he breathed deeply enough he could smell the dirt and dust trapped in the various tapestries. In the distance the horses whinnied and there was the unmistakable clanging of Ciri helping Vesemir in the kitchen. Sleety snow pinged off the windows and the forest rustled around him. Besides him Lambert was breathing deeply, close enough that he could feel his body heat but not close enough to touch him. The air still buzzed slightly around him and it was only when he finally smelled the telltale signs of chamomile and sage that he realized Lambert had used  _ axii _ on him. 

Experimentally, he allowed his eyelashes to flutter, wincing at the torchlight now flickering across his vision. Stupid Witcher senses. With a huff he pushed his eyes open, blinking rapidly. 

Lambert sat a few feet away from him on the floor - when had he ended up on the floor? He seemed to remember being in a chair at least - still wearing his armor and traveling cloak, giving him a gentle smile. Lambert never smiled like that, it was always sharp and mischievous. What was going on?

He opened his mouth to ask, but then he saw the lute case sitting on the couch and his stomach dropped from under him again as he fought to stay in control this time. 

“There you are, Geralt. I thought I was going to have to call for Vesemir to come potion you or something.”

_ “There you are, dear heart.” _

Geralt choked as it hit him again. “He’s- Jas-” he coughed, the bard’s name unfamiliar on his tongue after so many quiet months “Jaskier, he’s….he’s gone isn’t he?”

Lambert fell silent, giving him the tiniest of nods. “I’m sorry Geralt. I tried my best, I did, but I couldn't save him, it’s my fault.”

“Hmm.”

“Gods Geralt, if you hate me I understand, just have the decency to say it to my face instead of grunting and expecting me to know what it means.” 

_ Jaskier would know what it means.  _ The thought of his bard, his bard who wasn’t coming back this time, almost made him blanch and he took several minutes to center himself before responding to Lambert.

“I don't,” he finally managed to choke out.

“You don’t what?” Lambert’s voice was soft but his eyes were hard.

“Hate you,” Geralt muttered. Maybe there was a reason he let Jaskier do the talking. Guess he would have to figure that out on his own now. “It’s my fault….not yours.” The effort of speaking those five words nearly took all his energy. 

“You couldn’t have stopped it Geralt. I was there, remember? I was there. I tried.” 

_ If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands. _

Geralt shook his head. “You don’t know that.” Jaskier had been so good with words, using them to make people laugh and smile with those songs of his. He always knew what to say to make someone feel better. All Geralt ever did with his words was hurt people. Whenever he opened his mouth people cowered in fear and ran away, calling him a monster. And Jaskier, the one person who hadn’t run away from him when he opened his mouth, had ended up dead because of his words. He might as well just not speak anymore. It would be better for everyone.

So ke kept his mouth shut. 

Beside him, Lambert kept up a slew of apologies mixed with reassurances about how it wasn’t his fault. He was wrong. If he had just kept his stupid mouth shut, Jaskier would be alive and well and  _ here _ with him at the keep. He was going to ask him to come with him this year, thinking that it was high time he met his family after twenty two years of roaming the continent together. Jaskier was supposed to be here  _ dammit _ . Complaining about the drafty rooms and the musty smell and hiding behind the curtains to oogle at him while he trained or chopped wood and cuddling him to keep warm at night because apparently bards were like small hot water bottles and witchers were stupid blocks of ice. He was supposed to bicker with Lambert and hide Eskel’s damn goat and be scared by Vesemir’s sharp glares and help him with Ciri because he didn't know how to be a parental figure to anyone, much less a young, traumatized girl. He couldn't even take care of his bard. Why had destiny given him a girl?

He couldn’t do this without Jaskier. 

His eyes burned unfamiliarly. Witchers couldn’t cry. Witchers weren't supposed to feel emotions, so why was he such a blubbering mess? 

“It’s okay Geralt,” Lambert whispered beside him. 

_ No. No it wasn’t. _

And then Lambert was presing an envelope into his hands and he jumped, half expecting to feel Jaskier’s smooth, save for his calloused fingertips, hands, not Lambert’s rough ones. It felt wrong, all wrong. He jumped back. 

Lambert, for once, didn’t say anything about it. “I almost forgot to give you his letter. I really,” he sighed and Geralt could smell the sorrow on him. At least that was better than panic. “I really am sorry I couldn’t save him.”

Geralt didn’t say anything. He couldn't say anything. The last thing he needed was Lambert dying too because of his unforgiving mouth. He shifted his gaze down to the envelope and saw his name written in Jaskier’s immaculate penmanship, complete with those frivolous swirls he loved so much. Jaskier had always had the neater handwriting, with his lord upbringing and all. Once he’d seen Geralt’s and told him that Roach could probably write more legibly than he could. The thought sent what had to be shockwaves through his heart. All at once the great hall became suffocating and he dashed away from Lambert, gingerly picking up Jaskier’s lute as he could hear him yelling about how  _ instruments shouldn’t be so close to a fire because it will dry them out, Geralt _ and darted from the room. 

He let the curving paths of the castle guide him, ignoring Lambert’s surprised shouts from behind him. He just needed to get away, get lost, if he ran fast enough maybe the feelings would leave. 

Between one blink and the next he found himself standing in his childhood bedroom. The walls were crumbling, it was freezing and probably filled with the ghosts of some of the boys who hadn’t survived the trials. But to him it would always be his and Eskel’s bedroom, the last place he had been truly human and his only safe haven from the hell that had been his childhood. In the safety of this room they would bind the others wounds from training, tell wild stories to take their minds off the torture, curl up together in a pile of furs on cold nights and eventually they had recovered from the trials in here together, leaning on eachother, physically and mentally, when necessary. It was the first and only place he had known comfort. Well, before Jaskier that was. And now there was no more Jaskier to brush out his hair and bind his wounds and hum to him softly while he waited for the effects of potions to wear off, so he would have to settle for these long past memories and hope they would be enough. 

And if he clutched Jaskier’s lute to his chest, trying to find some scent of the bard still lingering on its wood, well, at least no one was around to make fun of him.

•••

Geralt thinks it had been days, but he’s not entirely sure. It could have been approaching a week, but he’d like to think that he hadn’t lost that much time. He’d seldom left his childhood room, unwilling to sacrifice the safety that it provided. He supposed it shouldn’t feel so lonely: pacing, only sleeping when he couldn't keep his eyes open anymore and then abruptly waking from nightmares, attempting to meditate to ignore his shaking hands. The life of a Witcher was meant to be lonely, but without the colors of his bard it seemed drab and empty. 

At times, the room had become stifling and he’d wandered the halls of the more rundown parts of the caste, where he was certain no one would look for him. He rediscovered secret passages and old rooms, but found none of the joy in them that he had when he was a teenager. He had wanted to show them to Jaskier, show them that Witchers did know how to have fun and sneak around, and that not all of his childhood had been a shit show. But Jaskier wasn't there. 

At one point he’d accidentally found himself near the kitchen, having wandered too far away from his safe haven. Lambert had grabbed his arm, burning it with his sharp grip, and dragged him into the kitchen. He had been talking too loudly for Geralt to comprehend, but he had shoved a plate of food into his hands and Geralt had assumed that meant he wanted him to eat. Eating would probably be a good idea. He’d never truly tested how long Witchers could go without food but he was probably getting close. 

But he had been overwhelmed by the seasoning in the single bite of the food that he had taken and it had stuck to his throat, refusing to go down. 

_ “Geralt, why don’t you actually season the food? It’s not that difficult, I could show you. And I know you're a big scary Witcher, but a little bit of flavor in your food wouldn’t kill you.” _

He shoved the plate back at Lambert and back to the safety of his childhood room. The run there had taken what little of his energy he had left and he had collapsed on the floor. He hadn’t moved since. 

Today though, whatever day that might be, he decided he needed to leave. Where he would go, he was unsure, but he couldn't stay here. Eventually his tactlessness would also kill the only family he had left, and he couldn't condemn them to that fate. He would never forgive himself if they left like Jaskier had. He couldn't kill anyone else.

He didn't grab anything from the keep. He was resourceful, he’d find everything he needed to survive out in the woods. He would have liked to have his swords, but when he went to check his room, his real room, they were mysteriously missing. Lambert or Vesemir had undoubtedly taken them, probably not trusting his fried senses with weapons. Just another reason why he should leave. 

The snow bit his skin, but the sensation was more welcome than anything else. It felt good to feel something again. He almost hesitated before stepping into the barn, wanting to linger in the cold for as long as possible. 

It was Roach that ended up sticking her head over the stall door and whinnied, calling him in. It always seemed like she was looking out for him. 

He let himself into her stall carefully, brush in hand. She might as well be well groomed before they ran away. He knew that he shouldn't take her, but he needed to allow himself just this one comfort. It had always been just him and Roach, and if he took her with him, he would be able to convince himself that this was just another hunt, just another day on the path. 

Just another day without Jaskier.

Roach headbutted him and he leaned against her warm nose. He really shouldn't have neglected her the last few days (weeks?). He’d make it up to her. He’d take her far away from this snowy place that he knew she hated and let her eat all the summer grass she wanted. He’d spoil her rotten, always giving her apples and sugar cubes and….everything Jaskier had done for her.

_ Fuck _ . He couldn't even take care of his own damn horse. What kind of a Witcher was he?

_ Will you forgive me, girl? _ He couldn't bring himself to speak the words out loud - he didn't need to lose Roach, Gods, anyone but Roach. He leaned against Roach’s neck, breathing in her scent. She was so warm, and for the first time he was aware of how painfully cold he was, maybe he could rest for a minute before they left. He needed to have enough energy to ride through the night, putting as much distance between himself and Kaer Morhen as possible. 

Unable to hold himself up anymore, he collapsed against Roach as he had done after countless fights. She supported his weight, laying down on the floor of her stall curled around him, and began whinnying loudly, presumably trying to alert someone that he needed help.

_ Don’t bother _ , he wanted to whisper.  _ Jaskier’s dead. No one’s coming. _

Although if he concentrated hard enough, he thought he could hear boots running towards them. He reached for his sword, only to remember that he didn't have it on him. Oh well. Let them take him. He lifted his hands in surrender, it was always so much easier without a fight.

“Geralt?”

_ Why did he know that voice? _

“Geralt! Oh  _ Gods _ , I am going to kill Lambert.”

_ Eskel? _

“It’s just Eskel, Geralt. I’m not going to hurt you.”

No, Eskel would never hurt him. Geralt was just scared he might hurt  _ him _ .

“And you’re not going to hurt me either.”

Damn him for always knowing what he was thinking. 

“You don’t have to talk if you don't want to, but can you at least open your eyes? I need to know you're not going to freeze to death.”

Right. Yes. That would be bad. Eskel would be mad if he froze to death. He didn't want to make Eskel mad. He opened his eyes slowly, letting them adjust to the dim light of the stable.

“Hi,” Eskel spoke softly as he offered him a smile. He smelled of pine and horse, safety and...home. He knew he shouldn’t, every bit of training he had ever gotten screamed at him not to, not to get close, not to rely on anyone, not to take comfort in anything. But he hadn’t had a home since he’d sent Jaskier away on the mountain top and he just couldn't help himself.

He threw himself at Eskel, burying his head into his chest and shaking silently. Eskel, to his credit, didn’t say a word. There was no chiding, no questions, no teasing. He just pulled arranged his thick cloak over the two of them like a blanket, positioned himself so he could lean back against the stall door and wrapped his arms tightly around Geralt, just as he’d done when they were kids. 

For the first time in a long time, with Eskel on one side and Roach on the other, he felt safe. 

He hadn’t even realized he had begun to cry until Eskel gently wiped away his tears. 

Eskel’s hands eventually found their way into Geralt’s hair and he pulled out the tie, gently undoing the knots. His hands were rough and hardened, so different from Jaskier’s, but still just as familiar and welcome. Jaskier would have hummed while he did it though. Eskel did not. 

He eventually lifted his head from Eskel’s chest and Roach was on him in a second, nosing away the last of his salty tears. He almost smiled, patting her muzzle gently. The combination of her warm breath on his face and Eskel’s hand in his hair gave him the strength to open his mouth and speak.

“He’s gone, Eskel.” It wasn't more than a hoarse whisper, one that he could hardly hear himself, and he winced at how weak his own voice sounded. 

Eskel’s hand in his hair slowed slightly. “I know. But we’ll figure it out, alright? Together.”

_ Together _ . Geralt nodded. He liked the sound of that. The weight on his chest loosened just a bit. 

“Lambert said there was a letter,” Eskel continued after a few more minutes of silence. “Did you read it.”   
  
_ The letter _ . Jaskier’s last words to him. He hadn’t read it, but it had been tucked inside his shirt since the moment he’d gotten it, determined to keep the small bit of Jaskier with him at all times. 

Eskel took his silence as a no. “Maybe you should read it. It might help.” 

Geralt wanted to protest, but he snuck a glance up at Eskel and saw in his eyes that he was practically pleading. He couldn't disappoint someone else. 

Slowly, he drew the letter out of his shirt and held it with shaking hands. The stable light was too dim to read the swirling letters though and a pang of disappointment stabbed his chest until Eskel made the sign for  _ igni _ and a small fireball appeared in his hand, the light of it warming Geralt’s face pleasantly. 

_ Dearest Geralt, _

_ First things first, I forgive you for all the things you said on the mountain. I’ve come to understand that you were just frustrated and likely didn't mean to take it out on me. But maybe next time I won't force you to be my bodyguard, alright? _

There he went again, being the better of the two of them even in death. Geralt felt a fresh round of tears begin to burn in his eyes.

_ Although I do understand if you don't wish to travel with me anymore. I can be trouble, I know. You should know though that I don't regret a single moment of our time together. It has been the best adventure of my life, walking the path with you. If I could do it all again I wouldn’t change a thing.  _

_ If you do find your Child Surprise before you see me again though, remember this: destiny gave her to you for a reason. You will do wonderfully with her, you just need to trust yourself you big oaf. You can care plenty for people when you try, and if you care for her half as much as you care for, I don't know, Roach, she will turn out just fine. Just make sure you actually season her food, she is royalty afterall.  _

_ If you wish to travel with me come spring I will be at Oxenfurt. If not, that is okay. Life has many more adventures in store for me.  _

_ Until next time, Dear Heart, _

_ -Jaskier _

Geralt stared at the paper in his hands, trying not to drip tears onto the fine ink, as if it were about to disappear. How did he always know exactly what to say?

“What did he say?” Eskel asked gently, extinguishing  _ igni. _

“To take care of Ciri,” he whispered, voice still hoarse.  _ Fuck, Ciri. _ His one job, and he’d ignored for Gods knew how long. He made to get up but Eskel held him down firmly. 

“She’s fine,” he assured. “You won't do her any favors running in there like this. You need to feel what you need to feel, it’s okay.”

“Witchers aren't supposed to feel things.”

“No, we’re not supposed to.” Geralt’s heart sank, he didn’t even fit in among his own kind. “But it's the best of us that do.” He smiled and Geralt knew that he was being genuine. You could always count on Eskel for that.

“Now c’mon,” he said, getting to his feet and pulling Geralt up. “We’re gonna go figure this out, together.” 

Geralt nodded, too tired to do anything further, and he leaned on Eskel as the two of them made their way back to the keep. 

•••

Ciri was sitting in her room. Geralt knew this because he could hear her muttering to herself from where he was sitting in Eskel’s room. He’d left the comfort of his childhood room after Eskel had found him in the stables, but hadn’t wanted to be alone, so Eskel had offered to let him stay in his room. He would never admit it outloud, but it felt good to sleep next to someone again. 

Slowly, and with Eskel’s help, he had begun to find a new normal. His voice had returned, followed by his energy and he didn't flinch away from bright colors and the scent of chamomile anymore. He was far from okay, but he was working on it. 

And working on it meant talking to Ciri. 

He walked across the hallway and knocked on her open door. 

Her head snapped up and her face broke out into a large grin. “Geralt!” She ran forward, crashing into him. He put his arms around her immediately. Gods, Jaskier would have loved her. “You’re back!”

“Hello cub. Sorry I haven't been around much.” 

He prepared for her to yell at him, but none came. “It’s okay,” she shrugged. “Uncle Lambert said your friend died, death is difficult.”

Geralt mentally slapped himself. Of course Ciri would understand. Her whole family was gone, her kingdom destroyed, she had dealt with more loss than he ever had. 

“Hmm,” Geralt agreed, walking further into the room and sitting down on her bed. She followed him and he felt a surge of protectiveness. Jaskier was right, he would do fine with her. 

But she was also the last gift Jaskier had given her, and he was determined to keep this one for as long as possible. So he did the thing he never had been able to do with Jaskier, he opened up.

“Dear heart,” the name felt unfamiliar on his tongue, but he continued. “Did I ever tell you about how destiny brought us together?”

“No.”

“It all began in a tavern in Posada. I was drinking an ale when this bard began playing some awful tune about an abortion.”

“What was the bard’s name?” 

Geralt smiled. “Jaskier. His name was Jaskier.” 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> did i whumptober correctly?
> 
> come talk to me and request prompts on tumblr ->
> 
> [@suddenly-im-respecsable](https://tmblr.co/mya9AR0Vn-K_MNqp9aKaKgg)
> 
> comments and kudos are much appreciated


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